White presents writers with a useful guide for digging up nuggets otherwise unknown or unseen. And not just writers, but anyone interested in capturing the how and why of curiosity and how an idea rises above the internal din of what’s for dinner? and why does my toe feel like
Okay. Not a very exciting post, but at least you’ll understand the news… Definitions I realized, reading news about COVID, that I don’t really know what a wet market is. Maybe you’re in the same boat. It sounds, at first glance, like something from a 1960s low budget horror film
Leo Tolstoy and the Meaning of Life Book Review: The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Leo Tolstoy Following his wealthy and entitled mid-nineteenth century compatriots, the young Tolstoy spent his daytime hours dutifully attending the responsibilities of a young noble. But, at night, he slipped through dark streets and dark doorways
By my own definition, a crumb has no pictures save the squished cookie in the heading. But this short observation, I think, satisfies my ideas for a crumb: a short post I write on the fly without editing or massaging from an idea that pops into my head from nowhere.
Book Review: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse, Louise Erdrich I am angry with Louise Erdrich. I am always angry with Louise Erdrich. I’m a crazy reader, you see. Between writing and cooking and weeding and my Peloton, I like to read a book each weekend.
It isn’t really, but, in this case, it is. I was listening to something today about developing a morning routine. One that is guaranteed to make you famous and beautiful and smart and probably live forever. Then I thought, screw this crap. The whole idea started to bother me. It’s
File this one under things that really bug me. Or things I hate. Not sure if it’s technology, business, or laziness. You decide. What thing has become common for you that drives you batty? I bought a cheap old truck over one Christmas holiday and called my insurance company to
Psalm 235 I woke this morning to a stir. “Dennis!” I heard. Loud. My watch said 2:30. Doors were closed, rooms dark.My wife lay next to me, arms akimbo, and no covers. Sleeping. “Here I am Lord,” I said, plagiarizing Samuel, not knowing what to expect.Not knowing, period.Not knowing anything.